“We are all basically common, you
included,” said the chortlewort to the disdainful rose, “so don’t flatter
yourself. You’re pampered is why you’re well-petal’d and pretty.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the rose,
“I’m a Beauty, even a national one. ‘Pretty’ is a put-down word, and it shows
you’re jealous.”
“Well, we have flowers and florets
too,” said the weed, “but not so much of the show-off kind. Don’t you know
you’re just a simple sport? Apart from odd, you’re fragile and frail, none of
you can stand hard rain or hail, your stems are weak and you lack firm rhizomic
foundation.”
